


Prophet (Twelve Steps Mix)

by inalasahl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Gen, Prophets, Religious Themes & References, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inalasahl/pseuds/inalasahl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck believes in a higher power. That's not the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prophet (Twelve Steps Mix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claudiapriscus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudiapriscus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Prophet in His Own Land](https://archiveofourown.org/works/123904) by [claudiapriscus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudiapriscus/pseuds/claudiapriscus). 



> "Sera" refers to Sera Siege, the character played by Keegan Connor Tracy in "The Monster at the End of This Book," not Sera Gamble. My eternal gratitude to slaybelle69, whose excellent beta made this a much better story in the end, and thanks to randomstasis for her notes on the first draft.

"Hi, I'm Chuck, and I'm an alcoholic. It's been, uh, 30 or 40 minutes since my last drink. I kind of had a little something in the parking lot before I walked in here. Um, and I'm here because Dave over there refused to sign my attendance slip unless I stayed for the whole meeting. ... That's all, I guess." Chuck closed his mouth and looked at the woman sitting next to him.

She gave him an encouraging smile and whispered, "Welcome." She lifted her gaze to the rest of the room and spoke in a louder voice. "Hi, I'm Julia, and I'm an alcoholic."

* * *

 

 _We admitted we were powerless over alcohol — that our lives had become unmanageable._

Chuck does not feel powerless over alcohol. Alcohol is the one thing in his life he has any control over. But, try telling that to his publisher:

 _"Good news," Sera had chirped. He could practically see her grin over the phone. "I talked it out with our foreign investor, and he gets it. He does. All writers need to take a break from time to time. Work on something a little different, get the creative juices flowing again. He's going to let you keep the advance on books 104 through 128 —"_

 _"I told you. I don't have that money, Sera, I'm done writing —"_

 _"Chuck. Please, stop. I know you don't remember, but your signature is on all the contracts. Anyway, I'm glad you brought that up because, well, let me get to that in a moment. So, we're going to let you keep the advance and just change up the deadline a bit. He's even willing to look at the other series ideas you have. But he's concerned — we're all concerned, Chuck — about these blackouts."_

 _"Blackout. Singular. Just the one. It won't happen again, I swear." Please, God, never again. Just leave me alone._

 _"I'm sure it won't," she said. "But he'd like a little insurance, and I agree it would be good for you. Think of it as a vacation. I've messengered over some brochures and don't you worry about the cost. We'll pay for everything. Just choose the one you like best."_

 _Had she said what the brochures were for? He couldn't remember, and he didn't think now was the time to ask. "A vacation would be nice," he replied._

 _"Great! It's settled. I'll call back tomorrow to get your decision."_

 _That's when the messenger knocked on his door with an envelope full of brochures for rehabilitation clinics._

He'd tried to stop; he'd promised to stop. But, he'd already sent off the first year's worth of manuscripts picking up the storyline right after Dean's return from hell long before he'd seen Dean and Sam at the convention. He didn't get a choice about those. Everything through Lilith dying and Lucifer rising was getting published. Then of course, he'd kept writing. He didn't have a choice about that either. Even so, he didn't have any intention of sending them out. But, then came the blackout and the waking up in a hotel in Monterrey with a cooler full of Cuervo with only vague memories of the past few months. (He'd told Sera that that was proof God wanted him to drink, but she ignored him.) Discovering "he" had not only finished "Swan Song," the book in which Sam sacrifices himself to trap Lucifer in the cage, but sent everything else he had written so far off to the publisher, contracted for two more years of writing and broken up with his girlfriend was a hard pill to swallow. It didn't seem fair that God didn't need permission to decide to take over one's body.

He didn't mind so much about the books. He was proud of the work he'd done. If it weren't for Sam and Dean, he'd want people to know about it. It wasn't like any idiot off the street could witness their lives and come up with haunting prose to describe it.

But damnit, he'd liked Becky. He supposed when God told your girlfriend you weren't good enough for her, and that your lives were on two different paths, you'd better listen.

They'd gotten one thing right in this place, he thought. His life had definitely become unmanageable.

* * *

 

 _Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity._

After a week, he's allowed visitors. Not that Chuck has friends anymore. But Sera stops by. "Did you bring it?" Chuck asks a little desperately.

"Hello, Sera. It's nice to see you, Sera. I'm sorry I tried to trick you into bringing a banned substance into my rehabilitation clinic after all you've done for me, Sera," she says. "Which was really humiliating by the way, Chuck. I had no idea that yeast is used to make alcohol, and how dare you —"

Chuck puts his head in his hands and mentally glares at God. I thought you wanted me to keep writing, he thinks.

As difficult as the First Step was, the Second Step is so easy for Chuck that his treatment counselor doesn't think he's really processed it. "Do you really think blaming God for your drinking will help your recovery, Chuck? Tell me about these headaches you've mentioned. It's not unusual for people to self-medicate with alcohol."

* * *

 

 _Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him._

Rehab is a six-week program. Chuck thinks he's free and clear if he can just get to week six. Until Sera tells him that the only way his investor won't sue for breach of contract is if Chuck takes the next six months to get his head on straight. This apparently meant documented proof of regular attendance at an AA meeting. It's harder than he realized it would be to find one willing to provide documentation. Most of the places he's called says it messes with their anonymity policy.

Before he knows it he's been out of rehab for two months. Writing all day and going to a meeting on the weekend settles into a nice routine. It's all going great until Sera stops by for an unannounced visit, and Chuck opens the door before his brain catches up with his hand. He flails around kicking bottles under his couch to try to hide that he's been drinking. Before he's realized the true danger, she's already noticed and picked up the print-outs detailing what's happened so far since Sam got out of the cage. Promise to Dean and Sam or not, Chuck's apparently going to do what God wants and keep publishing more books in the Supernatural series.

That's easier said than done, though. Sera drops by his house again (this time for a scheduled visit), all sympathy and concern. She and the investors don't exactly like what he's written. "A gimmick for one book I understand, but you can't expect us to print these as they are, Chuck. Like this one here: You have forty pages of Dean waking up, going to work, and coming home to Lisa and Ben, like, five weeks in a row. Only the dialogue changes. And Sam! You have him hunting, but —" Sera bit her lip. "Is this because you broke up with Becky? I know Sam was her favorite."

Chuck puts his head in his hands. "It's what I see the characters doing."

"You're a great writer, Chuck. You know that, right? I'm not just your publisher; I'm your fan, too." She puts the manuscript down, and sits next to Chuck on the couch, squeezing his shoulder gently. "I think maybe you just need to go back to your literary roots. Do some reading. Maybe join a writing group where they do fun little exercises. Build yourself back up into the writer I know you can be."

"I don't have any literary roots," he says, pinching his nose. He can feel a headache coming on. The throbbing in his head quickly went from annoying to vise-like. Sam, then. The supernatural-related visions always seem to hurt the worst and lately Dean hasn't been doing much other than teaching Ben car maintenance and showing off a heretofore unexpressed flair for grilling. Chuck had had to stay sober knowing Sera was coming over and now it was too late.

This was going to hurt.

* * *

 

 _Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves._

Chuck gets up from the floor with the stench of blood still in his nostrils having watched Sam shoot an innocent out of expediency. Again. He should call someone. Dean. If Dean knew Sam was out of hell, he could —

He pauses mid-dial. He's been trying to do what Sera said. Get back to his literary roots, which means reading a lot of the Bible, the Qu'ran, the Mishnah. The problem is that he is a coward. He has always been a coward, but now he knows it's all real. That there are consequences, especially for prophets. Isaiah? Sawed in half. Samuel? Now that Chuck has learned to read between the lines, he's pretty sure the guy ended his days possessed by a demon. And then there's Jonah. Everyone knows what happened to him. Chuck has no idea whether Raphael or another angel is still watching over him. But why get involved? Why become a player again and put himself on the radar?

Chuck puts down the phone and goes to sit at his computer. He can write about it, at least. Make sure the woman isn't forgotten. That someday people know what happened to her; they'll know what really happened to her. She'd been saying something when Sam killed her about her mother's birthday, about how her family would be expecting her, missing her.

He puts that in, too.

* * *

 

 _Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs._

"So this Castiel guy, you watched him get murdered?"

"Yeah," Chuck looks down at his hands. There's seeing it — and he's seen some awful stuff lately, Dean's been having nightmares of hell since he cut back on the evening drinking — and then there's having bits of blood and bone and tooth splattered all over you.

"Did you tell the police?"

"I didn't do anything," Chuck says. "I've never done anything." He shrugs. Can't quite look Julia in the eye. She's already figured out that he's still drinking some, though not like he used to. "He's in heaven now."

* * *

 

 _Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character._

Chuck is ready. Chuck is so very ready.

* * *

 

 _Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings._

Chuck's never thought of praying. He didn't believe in a god before all of this, and now, he doesn't believe in a god who answers prayers. The only angel he trusts is Castiel, but Chuck's seen Sam calling for him night after night to no avail.

Julia's reading the paper when he meets her for coffee. On the back is an article about a series of odd murders. He should call Bobby when he's done here. But, he already knows he won't. "How did the meeting go?" she asks.

"They didn't like any of my spin-off ideas."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know you've said you don't really enjoy your old series anymore."

He orders a triple-shot espresso and spares a moment of gratitude for the existence of caffeine. "I'm sure I wouldn't have signed the contract if something wasn't going to get published eventually." He'd woken up that morning to the sight of a djinn in the Braeden household. "I just wish ...." His voice trails off.

"What?"

"I just wish I didn't care so much," he says. "I don't understand what's the point if I never do anything."

She eyes him over her cup. "We're not talking about the books anymore, are we?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Have you asked your higher power for help?"

Chuck nearly chokes on his coffee.

* * *

 

 _Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all._

The list is actually pretty long when Chuck gets down to it. He's never more than a day or two ahead of real-time, but in some cases, that'd be enough. After seeing Sam watch Dean get turned into a vampire, Chuck dives into a couple of bottles of whiskey. The disappointment in Julia's voice when she asks why he didn't call her has him adding her name to the list.

The list has a lot of dead people on it. Chuck doesn't know how to make amends for that. If he sees the future, how much can he affect it? How much should he affect it? If Sam and Dean read an article in the paper about an attack that makes them think there's a werewolf running loose, why not call them and give them the chance to get to the town before the attack ever happens? If he doesn't do anything, does that make him complicit? If he does, is he condemning monsters who haven't done anything yet? What if God doesn't want him warning them? Will Chuck get taken over again, maybe never to return? What is a prophet of the Lord meant to do? How much free will does he really have?

* * *

 

 _Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others._

The book signing is kind of a bust, which at least doesn't intrude on his hangover. He'd spent the night typing and drinking to a dead hunter named Rufus, who someday won't be remembered as anything other than a plot device in someone else's story.

Chuck has been sitting at his table for an hour before someone finally comes over. The teenage girl is gushing about having just read Swan Song. "What was your favorite part?" he asks by rote.

"I liked how Sam and Dean didn't just give in because it was their fate," she said. "That they kept fighting until the end. They didn't just blindly do what the angels wanted. They did what they thought was right."

Maybe it's a sign.

One has to do what one thinks is right, even if God himself tells you otherwise. Sam and Dean deserve a little help and a lot of peace. He gets up from the table and starts packing away his pens.

* * *

 

 _Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it._

Chuck's house has two bedrooms, one of which has been entirely given over to storage. It's a habit he's had for awhile that he's made no effort to break. He buys extras whenever he goes to the store, and jots it down on his inventory list, making a hash mark for every roll of toilet paper or can of baby formula that goes inside.

But, that apocalypse has passed. It's time to start a new kind of inventory now, preparing for a different future, making himself into a different person.

When Chuck thinks about it there are things that he wants, things that he wants to do with his life. He's spent a lot of time deciding he couldn't because of migraines or visions or God or foreign investors. But he has free will; he has a choice. Yeah, it could all end with chunky tomato soup or financial ruin, but the choices are still his. He thinks about Balthazar's conversation with the Winchesters. "There's no more rules, boys."

If heaven, hell and purgatory can change, the entire structure by which the world works, so can Chuck.

* * *

 

 _Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out._

The first time Chuck prays, consciously at least, it's a very simple one. On his way back from the recycling center, he passes a man in a trench coat sitting on a bus stop bench and it reminds him of the pages he'd written just that morning. Only a flash as yet, but he'd gotten it down. Castiel hunched over, praying, "Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? Give me a sign. Stop me." Castiel praying for an answer that never comes, because he can't hear it.

That's not going to be Chuck.

He stands in the middle of the sidewalk and looks up at the sky.

"Dear God, I thought I knew what you wanted from me. But I promised Sam and Dean I wouldn't write anymore books, and I'm not going to. You can send me the visions, but all I'm going to do with them is call people, try to warn them. Because, I have the choice. That's what you wanted me to understand, right? And I'm going to tell them all the truth. That's what a prophet is. That's what a prophet does."

He calls Sera first. "You'll have to sue me," he says.

His hand starts to shake as he begins dialing Bobby Singer's number. He's still afraid.

* * *

 

 _Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs._

It makes him eccentric. It makes people wonder if it wasn't just alcohol that landed him in rehab. But, his six months are up, and his head is on straight. Chuck begins with Julia. "I want to start over," he says after his last meeting. He holds his hand out for her to shake. "Hi, I'm Chuck, and I'm a prophet of the Lord."

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for mature themes, references to abuse of alcohol.


End file.
